


Arya Stark: The Winds of Winter

by deadlypen1



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, more will be added if I continue further, think of this as starting in the middle of the book, trying to be as book compliant as I can
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19428172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlypen1/pseuds/deadlypen1
Summary: Arya Stark has returned to Westeros from Braavos, finding it in a worse state than when she left. As she travels the Riverlands to get answers about her wolf dreams, she stumbles across the Inn at the Crossroads.





	Arya Stark: The Winds of Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This is my idea of what would happen in Arya's POV chapters in The Winds of Winter. I tried to write this as close to GRRM's writing style as I could. I'm sorry if there are any continuity gaffs with the books. At most, this would be three chapters long.

“A girl’s name is Arya Stark. And I’m going home.”

Arya said those words to the Kindly Man in the House of Black and White, and she meant those words. But walking through the Riverlands now, after spending a year away in Braavos, and spending a few months wandering, it wasn’t at all the home she remembered.

She caught a ship running between Braavos and Maidenpool, fearful for any Faceless Men that would try and follow her. She hadn’t seen or sensed any on her travels, worrying about any tricks they would try she hadn’t learned yet. Her basic knowledge led her to think otherwise.

Arya could’ve taken a boat back to White Harbor, the main port of the North, and made her way back from there. But she felt more complied to make her way to the Riverlands first. She continued to have wolf dreams, even as she tried to wipe away her Stark identity. All nearly the same. Arya was still the leader of a pack of wolves in the Riverlands, ripping apart knights carrying banners Robb fought against and eating whatever prey they could find. 

And Arya figured she would find her Nymeria again.

As Arya made her way, the farmland was burned or dried out and most of the cottages nearby were abandoned. Camps were set up all over, who had more important things to pay attention to than a wandering girl. She saw the tents bearing the sigils of houses from the Riverlands; acorns on a yellow field, sea birds on a field of blue, and a white tree against black and red. One she saw, several mockingbirds on a field of green, caused her to remember how Littlefinger would always wear a mockingbird pin during meetings with her father, so maybe that would be him. She wished either of her parents were here to guide her.

But Arya did not see the silver trout of House Tully anywhere. But there were plenty of banners for the Twins of House Frey, alongside the golden lion of the Lannisters. 

When she further approached the Inn at the Crossroads, Arya noticed more children congregated on lands nearby. They were playing their own little games across the fields and in the woods, with plenty crying over scraped knees and elbows. She saw more trying to comfort the crying kids than yelling at them to be quiet.

As Arya saw the building in the distance, much more expansive than the last time she visited, a girl no taller than her hip stood by the road, holding some daisies in her hand. She has auburn hair, just like Sansa, Arya thought.

“Hello, what’s your name?” Arya asked.

“Lilly,” the girl replied.

“Don’t you have parents that should be watching you?”

“No one I play with has parents. Mine died in the fighting.”

Arya felt sorry for the girl, thinking this Lilly girl lost her mother and father at a younger age than her. “Well, you can’t just stay by this inn.”

“I don’t mind. A blacksmith at the Inn takes care of us.”

A blacksmith she says, Arya thought. “Do you remember this smith’s name?”

“People keep calling him the bull. Probably because he’s as big as one.”

That sounds like an old friend. “Would you mind leading me to him?”

Lilly grabbed Arya’s hand and the two ran off to the inn. More kids were playing in the dirt roads around the building and on the upper floor railings. Whatever celebration was happening inside spilled out through the front door, as a brown-haired wench and some unarmored knight spilled out of the front door. The little girl led Arya to the smithy on the side of the inn, where heat spilled out the front entranceway.

As she entered the forge, Arya admired the blacksmith she used to travel with. He wore a leather jerkin with the sleeves cut off, showing off his sweaty arms as they drew a hammer down on a breastplate. A collection of sword blades without hilts hung on a wall. Steam rose from a bucket of water as he dripped the armor into it to cool off.

“I’m not seeing any customers right now,” the bull bitterly said, not bothering to acknowledge who came in the door, just focusing on beating the metal in front of him.

“Is that any way to address a highborn?” Arya bit back.

The hammer arm stopped and Gendry spun around to look at her. His hair grew out so it was nearly touching his shoulders. His face was moist from sweat. And his eyes were the same shade of ocean blue she remembered.

“So you’re helping orphans now. That’s very noble of Ser Gendry.”

“Arya,” Gendry muttered, unable to believe the sight before his eyes.

“Hello again,” Arya replied.

The bull dropped his smithing hammer and ran towards the girl. Arya did likewise, jumping towards his chest when he got close and he spun the two of them around. 

“What’re you doing here?” Gendry had a lot of questions to ask her. “How did you find me?”

“One of the orphans outside told me you were here.”

“You must be starving. Let’s eat something, but don’t say that you’re Arya to anyone inside who asks. Use one of those other names you used.”

One of the other names? I just want to be Arya for once, she thought as Gendry led her out of the forge back to the front of the inn, where the celebration inside poured further out into the fields and the patrons sang a variety of songs that did not sound well when sung together. The patrons sounded like they were shouting over one another. 

The two managed to find room at a table next to a couple, most likely a man eager to slip a hand underneath his whore’s dress. The plates were mostly emptied, but they had picked apart roast chicken, apples, dates and white bread, and Arya wolfed down the food she could gather. She poured herself and Gendry ale from a half-full flagon and she drunk to make her food go down faster. 

“You should slow down. You’re like to choke as Joffrey did,” Gendry jested.

“I haven’t had a good meal in weeks,” Arya said between bites.

“When you’re able to stop, I have too many questions for you.”

Arya stopped. She figured Gendry would want to know where she’d been, what she’d done. He’d always been the one she could trust when they escaped King’s Landing and made their way through Harrenhal and the Riverlands, but after not seeing each other in so long, was he still the same stupid boy? She wasn’t the same stupid girl he’d remember.

“Where did you go, when you disappeared?”

“The Hound took me to the Twins,” she started slowly, “Tried to ransom me off to mother and Robb.” Arya didn’t want to continue as she felt tears starting to well up in her eyes.

“The Red Wedding,” Gendry said what she wasn’t able to. He reached an arm around Arya and pulled her close to his chest. He’s warm, Arya thought.

“I left the Hound to die after he was attacked, then I took a ship to Braavos and I learned from the Faceless Men.”

“The Faceless Men? Like that guy from Harrenhal?”

“Yes. I learned so much from them in Braavos, but the more I did, the more I felt I was losing myself, committing myself to a cause I wanted no part of. When I last saw Jaqen, he changed his face and didn’t go by that name anymore.”

“That’s . . . pretty useful.”

“But I wouldn’t be Arya then. I don’t want to be a sellsword. I want to be a Stark of Winterfell.”

Gendry huddled her down to avoid her being heard by the nearby folk, still being rambunctious and singing clashing songs. 

“You crazy? From what I hear, the Boltons hold Winterfell now, there are still Ironmen in the North and Stannis Baratheon is leading an army from the Wall.”

Arya had the faintest memory of her father mentioning Stannis, King’s Robert brother, and everything else she knew about him came from commonfolk saying he’s in love with a red priestess. That he had all the disposition of the onions he eats every night. But him in the North trying to take back Winterfell, she’d trust him more than the Boltons. Maybe Jon was marching with him.

But they were in the North and she was back in the Riverlands. Arya had a more immediate thought in mind. “Well aren’t you still with the Brotherhood?”

“I don’t know anymore. It changed far too much since you left. Ever since Lady Stoneheart took over.”

Lady Stoneheart? Arya thought. 

“Beric found a woman’s body along the banks of a river. He used that kiss of life Thoros used all those times on him to bring her to life, giving up his own. She had her throat slit, so she can’t speak properly. And since then, we’ve been hunting down Freys and Lannisters. And most of the Brotherhood deserted.”

That was something Arya would’ve wanted to do once. Whoever this Stoneheart was had the right thought, but why did she feel so uncertain? They were the enemies of her house, but their war brought so much ruin.

“Arya. I never thought I’d see you again,” Gendry continued, as Arya could see sadness and relief in his blue eyes. But there were bits of anger too. “You just disappeared in the middle of that village. Then one day, I hear that you got married to Ramsay Bolton.”

Arya remembered her time with Roose Bolton at Harrenhal, Robb’s bannerman who leeched himself and betrayed his king at the Red Wedding. But from what little she heard about his bastard son, he was as much a monster as Joffrey. She remembered Polliver saying something similar before the Hound killed him.

“That’s what all the Lannister loyalists are saying. But I knew it couldn’t be you. There’s no way anyone would force you into that. I was half of mind to march North and save you myself before I thought better of it.”

“If I was married to Ramsay, I’d slit his throat easily,” Arya replied. He’d try and save me, that noble idiot. He sounded like a knight in one of those songs. He did look after the children here. Maybe a singer did write a song about him and she hadn’t heard it yet.

“So, now you’re back, what are you going to do now? I don’t think you’re going back North right now.”

“I want you to take me to Stoneheart.”

“What do you want with her?”

“I can’t explain it without sounding like someone who told me stories of the Age of Heroes back in Winterfell. I’ve been having dreams of a wolf pack in the Riverlands for years. Back to when we were fleeing King’s Landing. And I’m sure it's of my pet direwolf Nymeria.”

“You had a pet wolf?”

“We all did back in Winterfell, but I had to drive her off when she bit Joffrey. I mean to find her again, and Stoneheart’s part of it. I don’t want to lose you again either, but where I’m going, what I plan on doing, I don’t know if I’ll come out alive.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from getting into trouble before,” Gendry replied in a tone insinuating he wanted to continue on. “Once you find her, you’re not gonna like what you see.”

“After what I’ve been through in Braavos, I’m prepared for anything. When are you ready to leave?”

“As soon as you are.”

They got ready as Gendry took a cheap sword, a smithing hammer, and some food from the kitchen. Arya lead them northwest along a river, setting up camp every night for a week far from any roads. When they set up camp, they shared their food and spied each other bathing in the river, but neither seemed to mind. While they slept in separate blankets, Arya had the feeling Gendry was moving closer to her, trying to be protective. She didn’t mind that either. It was just nice having someone she trusted with her again.

As they kept moving at the break of dawn, the calls of wolves could be heard. The howls came from far away, where none could be immediately seen in the treeline, but the noise followed them, and the rustling that came along with the wolves trampling on dead leaves and grass followed too.

“There’s way too many wolf’s howling,” Gendry remarked. 

“We’re getting close then.”

Twenty wolves emerged from the trees, making a circle around Arya and Gendry. The smaller ones gave off barks and howls as the two stood back to back, their hands on the hilts of their weapons. Emerging from the pack to stand in front of Arya was a wolf standing as tall as her with grey fur. She growled at the Stark girl, but her golden eyes looked as tired as Arya’s, looking into her soul.

A direwolf.

“Nymeria! Hey girl,” Arya approached the direwolf. “Don’t you remember?” Arya ran her hands through the wolf’s thick fur, trying to put the animal at ease. “It’s me, Arya.”

Nymeria sniffed her companion, sticking her nose into Arya’s hair and along her torso. Once the wolf was satisfied, she stuck her tongue out and licked the Stark girl’s face, slobbering over her cheeks. Arya wiped the saliva off as Nymeria gave a howl towards the sky, the other wolves following suit. The girl gave off an “AHOOOOOO.”

“Gendry, this is Nymeria. And her pack.”

“It’s a wild beast, that’s what it is.”

“She’s not wild, she’s my pet. Was, until she bit Joffrey.”

“That giant wolf’s your pet? She’s bigger than you are!”

Nymeria went back to giving off a growl as her attention went to Gendry. She stalked the bull as if he were prey. Gendry stood firm, reaching for the hilt of his forge hammer.

“Nymeria no!” Arya shouted. “Gendry won’t hurt you!”

“You sure about that?”

As the wolf approached, she growled as Gendry assumed a defensive stance, one hand holding onto his hammer and another grabbing the sword hilt. Nymeria stopped growling and started sniffing his legs and torso. Gendry made slow footsteps away, not wanted to aggravate the animal. 

Nymeria looked back at Gendry’s face, barking, then looking friendlier, sticking her tongue out to pant and lick his face. Other wolves in the pack started to howl.

“I think she likes you,” Arya said, looking amused as direwolf saliva ran down Gendry’s cheek.

“None of the other wolves better do that too,” and the two went off further into the woods, with the wolfpack not trailing far behind.

As they went further along, bodies of men wearing the twin towers of the Freys hung from the trees, most of them caked in blood. Some nooses were empty, with headless bodies lying below them. It seemed hundreds of them lined the woods, with the occasional one bearing the lion of the Lannisters or other houses Arya guessed were from the Westerlands. She remembered the Freys being a very large house, populated with so many of Walder Frey’s descendants. Some of Nymeria’s wolves sniffed at the corpses and took a few bites of the rotting flesh.

“These were the men of the house that killed your mother and brother, right?”  
Gendry asked, confident that he already knew the answer.

“Yes they are,” she replied.

“I’ve killed a fair many lately, not in this fashion. A good sword stab put many of those weasel-faced vermin down. They all whimpered.”

“But did they actually take part?”

“What does it matter? Its all for the honor of you Starks, right?”

For our honor? How could our honor bring this? Arya thought to herself. A great many people came to the faceless men asking for their services, for some sort of retribution. The assassins were all too happy to oblige, delivering souls to their god of death. Arya did a few herself. They completed their tasks, but nothing went back to the way things were.

She wished her father were here to tell her what to think. He had killed for honor before, but he also died forsaking it, trying to save his family. What use is honor if innocent people die this way?

“Shh, we’re getting close,” Gendry motioned, as he spied his brothers further in the woods. The two and the wolves stopped behind some bushes, not wanting to reveal themselves just yet. The Brotherhood had about fifteen men, standing near the entrance of a cave, preparing to judge two knights while holding a boy hostage. She remembered the bright red clothes and balding head of Thoros of Myr and the foxlike face of Tom of Sevenstreams.

“That’s her,” Gendry pointed to a woman in a dark blue and gray cloak. Lady Stoneheart was facing away from the two, with attendants at her sides, one of whom Arya recognized as Harwin, her father’s former master of horses.

Arya recognized the blond-haired man with dirtied red armor. She remembered Jaime Lannister from King Robert’s visit to Winterfell all those years ago. Then, he was kept and presentable and had two hands. But she would not have been able to place him now, with his golden hand, stubble and dirtied bloodied armor. She didn’t recognize the armored woman standing next to him, with short blonde hair, green armor and red splotches covered by a bandage on one side of her face.

“Who’s that woman?” Arya asked.

“Brienne, I think her name is,” Gendry replied. “She came by the inn with a squire looking for your sister.”

Jaime’s expression went from dumbfounded to horrified as he saw Stoneheart’s face. Harwin leaned in to hear what she had to whisper. “The lady is pleased with your efforts, Brienne, and will let your squire go.”

“Now what will you do with Jaime?” Brienne replied in return.

Stoneheart whispered again into Harwin’s ear. “The lady has decided they will make the Lannister pay for his crimes.”

“I have done nothing wrong!” Jaime shouted. “I didn’t orchestrate anything!”

“Your family orchestrated the Red Wedding, breaking the rule of Guest Right, killing Robb Stark and his bannermen and sowing further chaos in the North and Riverlands.”

“What I’m doing now is keeping the realm at peace. You are butchering innocent men left and right.”

“No one who serves Houses Frey and Lannister are innocent. The lady will make sure you don’t escape her presence again.”

All these charges brought back too many painful memories for Arya and how this war started. Father. King Joffrey. Seeing the Riverlands burned by Gregor Clegane and Tywin Lannister’s men. The Red Wedding. Who was Stoneheart? What reasons would she have for Jaime Lannister?

Then, everything clicked in Arya’s mind. And she did not like what her suspicions told her.

Arya stepped away from Gendry, stepping forward through the bushes towards Stoneheart and the Brotherhood.

“Arya, what’re you doing?” Gendry whispered as he reached out, grabbing her arm. “It’s not time yet.”

“I know how to end this,” Arya replied. “Those three don’t deserve this.”

“But they’re with the Lannisters. I thought you’d want them dead.”

“They’re not the threat here right now. Let go of me.”

Arya tugged herself free and slowly moved forward, preparing herself for a loud scream, and she wasn’t sure what to brace for next. If she was wrong, the Brotherhood would capture her and Stoneheart would subject her to the same trial as Jaime. If she was right, she didn’t know if her heart could take it. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she needed to remind herself.

And so, as she walked out the bushes, in sight of the brotherhood, Arya screamed.

“MOTHERRRRR!” 

Her shout caught the attention of the rest of the brotherhood, drawing out their swords to defend their leader. Arya did not dare draw out Needle, hoping her risk would pay off. The lady who ordered the execution 

Arya could not deny it. Lady Stoneheart had the face of her beloved mother Catelyn, with more grotesque disfigurements than when she saw Nymeria pull her out of that river. Deep gashes down her cheeks, her throat still not properly mended from the Frey knife she took there. And whatever warmth she radiated was gone, as her skin was the color of sour milk. 

“Ar . . . ya?” Stoneheart murmured out, without the need for her helper. Her voice sounded like if the wind tried to speak.

“Yes mother, it’s me,” Arya replied, with tears starting to roll down her cheeks.

She continued moving forward to her mother’s shell, with all eyes on her. As the two were next to each other, Stoneheart stretched her arms to embrace her daughter, which she reluctantly obliged. Arya did not receive much warmth from her mother back in Winterfell. Sansa was the favorite daughter. But whatever warmth Arya remembered was absent from this corpse.

Gods, what have I done? Arya panicked inside.

“Where . . . San . . sa?” Stoneheart asked. Her voice grated in Arya’s ears.

“I don’t know. I last saw her in King’s Landing, when Joffrey killed father.” Tears were covering the girl’s cheeks. Stoneheart tried wiping them away with one of her sleeves. 

“Bran? . . . . Rick . . . on?”

“I don’t know,” Arya replied, but she had a sense of what Stoneheart was doing. If she was alive, why wouldn’t her other siblings be too? “Mother, you did all this? You killed all those Freys?”

“Yes. . . . for us.”

“I remember the Tully words. Family, Duty, Honor. What you’re doing, there’s no honor.”

The girl remembered the kind of face her mother gave her went she was disappointed. But now, when this form made the same face, Arya was forced to remind herself of Syrio’s words. Fear cuts deeper than swords. She needed to convince her.

“I know when people are lying,” Arya said. “If Jaime says he had nothing to do with killing you and Robb, I believe him.”

“You . . . weren’t . . . there,” Stoneheart adopted a tone that reminded Arya of when her mother would threaten punishment.

“I was there, mother. The Hound tried ransoming me to you and Robb at the Twins. Only we got there too late. I saw all the Freys murdering Robb’s men.”

Stoneheart’s face softened, Catelyn’s motherly presence appearing again. 

“Who do you think pulled your body out of that river? It was Nymeria, my wolf. She did it. I’m why you’re like this.”

“No,” Stoneheart draped her arms around her daughter, trying to give some motherly comfort, and Arya made no effort to squirm free. “No.”

“Mother, I’m sure the rest of us are still alive. I’m not sure how I just do. I’ll find them. I’ll bring the pack together again. Sansa, Bran, Rickon, I’ll find Jon too.”

Arya could swear Stoneheart looked just as sad as she felt, standing up and leading her to a nearby river. All eyes were still on them as mother and daughter both got their feet wet. Stoneheart went further out so she was waist deep, her robes flowing with the current. Arya was knee deep in the water, her whole body feeling cold.

“Your . . . sword,” Catelyn pointed.

“Needle?”

Stoneheart pointed at the narrow Braavosi sword and then pointed it at her chest. “Mother’s . . . mercy.”

“You want this?”

“Yes.”

Arya struggled raising Needle to her mother’s chest, her face still quivering even when she had no more tears to give. Kinslaying was accursed, but would this count if this was not her mother anymore?

“I . . . am . . . Cate . . . lyn . . . Stark. . . . A . . . Tully . . . of . . . River . . .run.”

Catelyn raised her left hand so the fingers would surround the sword, urging her daughter to thrust. She briefly winced in pain, as if the sword reopened some wounds on the fingers. But she worked to keep a calm demeanor. For her daughter. For her family.

“Family . . . Duty . . . Honor.”

With that saying of her family works, Arya shoved Needle in Stoneheart’s chest, its small nature creating a small cavity into where her heart was. Catelyn’s face didn’t show any pain. She closed her eyes and had a look of release.

As Arya pulled Needle out of Catelyn, the Tully’s body collapsed into the river, carried away by the current downstream. The girl did not wish to defile her mother any further and trust that no one who came across it would do the same.

It’s befitting of a Tully, Arya thought as she waded out of the river back towards the brotherhood. Everyone stared at the Stark girl with some kind of admiration, with Gendry and Nymeria still hiding in the bushes.

“Well, Arya,” Jaime said without his panic from earlier. “It’s good knowing you’re safe.”

“Lady Stark, my name is Brienne of House Tarth,” the female knight pulled out her sword and kneeled to the ground. “I pledged my service to Lady Catelyn when she was alive and swore to find and protect you and your sister. I now pledge myself to you.”

Arya wanted to say that she did not need someone pledging herself to her, but Brienne’s sword distracted her, exhibiting the same sheen reminding her of another weapon. “That sword you got there. Valryian Steel?”

“Oathkeeper is its name. It was forged out of your father’s greatsword, so I could use its steel to protect you. ”

Ice. Arya thought. The sword father used in battle. For executions. The sword that took his life. 

“Where did you get it?” Arya said in a way that sounded panicky.

“Jaime presented it to me.”

Arya looked over at the Lannister, and whatever pity she felt towards him temporarily dissipated into a rage. She pulled Needle out, aiming the point at Jaime’s throat. 

“Arya, you have every right to be mad at me,” Jaime said, halfway between pleading and tiredness. “I’ve had more than enough hatred from Stark women for one lifetime. If you want to kill me, do it. But know that I was telling Catelyn the truth.”

The last words Arya’s mother said to her were Family, Duty, Honor. And Jaime Lannister was absent of those qualities. She wanted to stick Needle through his throat for tearing her family apart. 

But he was telling the truth. And killing him right here was what Stoneheart would have done. She would be the honorable one here. Arya pulled Needle away and sheathed it back into her belt. 

“Like I told mother, I believe you,” Arya directed to Jaime before turning her attention to the female swordsman. “Brienne, I hope you put that sword to good use and make my father proud.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Brienne replied.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Gendry walked out of the bushes into the conversation, eyes turning to him and the wolf pack that followed. “but we’re a couple of knights, a Northern lady, a pack of wolves, and a leaderless band of outlaws. Anyone have any idea what we should do now?”


End file.
